


Acute Motion Memory in Three Parts

by neaf



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neaf/pseuds/neaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Darren haven't been together very long, but when Chris is overworked and overtired, Darren comes up with his own unique solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darren

He slips by his trailer between scenes one day, finding his old flip-cam and dragging it out, heart thumping and head swimming with the rush of an idea. He flicks back over the last few videos absently; backstage at talk shows and concerts, the Warblers at dinner, the view from Chris’s window that one morning, looking out over LA. 

It was raining that morning, and he can never hear much past the hiss-rush of water falling and the whisper of Chris’s voice. He plugs in earphones to hear it properly every time, to focus on the tiny sounds he can't catch on speaker, along with Chris’s whisper-soft tones, sleepy and light in the background (" _Good morning"_ , the soft pat of feet on the wooden floor, his own little hum and the rustle that came with it, the memory of arms around his waist, a soft kiss, " _Mmm. I love when it rains."_ The first night. The beginning.)

Flicking the flip-cam over to record mode, he thumbs at the edge of it slowly, mind wandering over where to start.

In a rush he clatters down his trailer steps, eyes bright and excited as he darts over to Chris's, knocking once before he slips inside.

It used to be a reverent thing: knock three times then wait politely. Chris almost never invites anybody in. Chris is always working. 

These days Darren doesn't so much knock as bump the door with his knuckles when he grapples for the handle.

Chris is on his couch, sitting straight and focused, his eyes cast down over a folder and papers in his lap. His glasses are pushed up high on his face, slightly askew, his arm resting on the back cushions with a pencil flipping around in restless fingers.

Darren flops down beside him gracelessly, hits _record_ and grins.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Darren says.

Chris doesn't look up as he flips to the next page.

Tilting the camera up and down with tiny pivots of his hand, Darren trails the shot over Chris’s figure and back to the notes that hold his complete attention.

“That had better not be recording,” Chris warns.

Darren's mouth curls at the edge. “It’s not.”

Chris drops his hand to make notes in scratchy drags across the paper. “Liar.”

“Pragmatist.”

“Cute.” Chris taps his pencil. “Is there a reason you’re filming me?”

“I'm going to keep a record,” he explains excitedly. “A private record of all the important moments. So that one day, when I’m old and wrecked and I can’t tell my ear from my asshole-”

“That’s a pretty picture.”

“-I can look back, and say,” he waves his arm grandly. “Oh my _god_ , what a tool.”

“Both pithy and accurate.”

“You’re so sweet to me, what did I do to deserve such _adulation_?” Darren asks in fond, sarcastic tones.

“You bought me dinner,” Chris notes quickly without looking up, “and underage tequila.”

“That was a secret,” Darren says, brow lifting.

“It still is.”

With a knowing smile, Darren moves the camera again, adjusting the lens to make sure he has Chris in view. He watches through the screen, head tipping to the side as he focuses on the line of Chris’s profile. Chris's expression is solemn, unmoving in the afternoon light, his determined and distracted eyes hidden behind his frames. 

Darren can feel the silence lingering over them, like he feels every silence, every gap that isn't filled with sound or song. But it's not the usual grating silence, it's comfortable and warm like some untouchable, invisible blanket; safe and simple. Just as it's always been, with Chris.

He feels something trickle under the quiet, something hard-edged and too tight coiled in the line of Chris’s shoulders. It takes him a quick glance up to realise it's not a trick of the camera.

“What’s up?”

“I’m busy,” Chris answers automatically.

“I can see that,” Darren says softly. “Are you gonna take a break?”

Chris huffs out a light laugh. “That’s adorable coming from you.”

Darren thinks on it for a moment, eyes dipping to the rigid line of Chris’s spine and the tense muscles flashing in his neck as he breathes. 

“What are your plans tonight?” he asks brightly.

Chris sighs, eyes flicking back and forth across the pages in his lap. “Working,” he says.

“Well, obviously,” Darren mocks playfully. “If you stopped working, the apocalypse would be well and truly nigh.”

“I have a deadline,” is Chris’s absent reply.

Darren wonders if he's doing that thing again, where he switches to automatic, editing and writing and filing things in his brain even while he holds a complete conversation. He wonders if Chris spoke only because he knew it was his turn, but didn't actually hear what was said.

“But that’s Monday,” Darren offers, eyes still locked on the viewer. “You have all weekend.”

“Yeah, but if I finish this edit tonight, I have the weekend to work on the script for – wait,” Chris turns to him at last, ignoring the flip-cam in favour of focusing his narrowed gaze on Darren. “How did you know that?”

Darren tips his head to one side. “You told me.”

“Yeah,” Chris says with an exaggerated eye-roll, “like, three weeks ago.”

With his lower lip sticking out, Darren shrugs.

“Let me get this straight,” Chris clarifies, twisting in his seat and lifting up a bent leg to rest on the couch between them. “You remember something I said three weeks ago?”

Darren nods, still watching Chris through the camera.

“You,” Chris says again with a tone of disbelief. “Who usually can’t remember what colour underwear you're wearing. _You_ remember _my_ deadline?”

He can't help but laugh at that. “Hey, I _listen_ ,” he says defensively, “and I’m not _that_ bad.”

“Uhuh,” Chris says, looking back down at his work.

Darren peers at him for a moment, switching hands with the flip-cam and making sure Chris is distracted again before he tilts his head, lifting the edge of his pants to glance down as quickly as possible. 

“And they’re blue!” he announces triumphantly.

“Oh, I know they are,” Chris murmurs with a smirk. “But _you_ cheated.”


	2. Chris

The moment he gets through his front door, Chris knows something is different. He's exhausted, bone-weary and rubbing at his aching neck as the door slips shut behind him, but he can feel the shift in the air the moment he stops inside. Tense and suddenly nervous, Chris freezes to the spot at the unfamiliar sound; a click-stutter in the air like footfalls. Everything seems so much warmer than it should be for winter.

He can hear something moving. Rustle, rustle, click-click, like lights turning on. Then there's soft sounds again, feet on wood floors, and he knows before he sees who's coming.

_Dammit, Darren._

"How did you get into my house?" Chris asks loudly a split second before Darren comes into view.

"Whoa," Darren throws both hands up, "Calm down, it's just me."

"Oh, I know it's you, but-" Chris stops, eyes wide in surprise. "What are you _wearing_?"

Darren grins, his eyes scrunching up and fists curling into the hem of his batman t-shirt, and Chris can't help but wonder how a grown man can walk around looking like an oversized ten year old and get away with it.

"How-" Chris breathes, and rubs at his forehead, and tries again: "How did you get in?"

"I used a key," Darren says simply, moving around the side-table in the entryway and picking up a stack of neatly-folded clothes.

"You don't have a key yet," Chris manages to get out very slowly, like he's trying to understand a foreign language.

Darren stops still, staring at him with dark eyes that almost look smug.

"What?"

"You said 'yet'," he teases.

"Shut up," Chris waves a hand. "Wait, did you - Did you steal my keys?"

"You just let yourself in with your keys," Darren says with a flick of his finger. "Of course I didn't steal them."

" _Darren_ ," Chris warns.

"I used a skeleton mold," he explains, rocking on his feet. "Like the ones you get out of amateur spy sets, you know? You take a mold of the key, and you can make another one? It's awesome!"

"Oh my god," Chris sighs, dropping his bag by the door. "I'm dating a five year old."

"That," Darren says, thrusting the pile of clothes into Chris's arms. "Is exactly the point."

Chris blinks at him for a stunned moment before he glances down at the fabric in his arms. Decepticons and Autobots wage war in flannel print across what appears to be a pair of pyjama pants, along with a black t-shirt that has _Transformers_ written across it in silver block writing.

"Wait, what …"

"The other week, you said to me," Darren cuts him off, scooting closer and slipping an arm around Chris's waist. "That you wished, just for one night, you could be a little kid again. When everything was new."

Chris sighs in frustration, trying to work his way out of Darren's grip. "Yes, but, b-" He stutters for a moment, lost for words for the first time in a very, very long time. "I- there's-"

He wants to say _work_ , and _the book_ , and _the script_. He wants to let any of his usual excuses pave his way for a simpler, carefree night. But something inside keeps him silent.

"Shh," Darren steps back to grip Chris's his free hand, tugging him along to the living room.

Chris lets himself be lead, rolling his eyes and resigning himself to the fact that when Darren is on a mission there's little he can do to stop it. 

He tries not to laugh at the tiny bat-signals printed all over Darren's flannel pants, then promptly tries not to trip when he notices just how tight they are, and then very quickly forgets all of it in a rush of light and colour as they step through the doorway to his living room.

Suspended over seemingly invisible walls are brightly coloured blankets and quilts, fleece throws and rugs thrown in every direction over some kind of strings for suspension. The couches have been pushed back to the walls, the open space flooded with a cave of soft fabrics and fairy lights. Somewhere underneath, a roll of scarlet spills out on the floor to meet their feet, like a red carpet leading inside.

" _Oh_ ," Chris breathes, breath stuttering around the absence of words in his mouth.

Beside him, Darren grins, eyes huge and alight with the white glow of the room. "That's more like it."

Chris's eyelashes flutter in disbelief, and he's trying to fight the grin on his face, he really is. But something warm bubbles up inside him, pushes past the _right now_ and the _deadline on monday_ and the ever present need to work as he flushes from head to toe with wonder.

"So, okay," Darren jogs backwards away from him, sweeping an arm low. "We've got snacks, and there's pizza," he says excitedly, skipping to the doorway and talking almost too quickly for Chris to catch everything, "and there's old school Nintendo, and plenty of cushions so it's super comfortable, we've got all the Marios - Bros, Party, Kart, et cetera, there's a DVD player for movies, Star Wars, naturally, and also-" he twirls a finger in the air, tipping his head, "ghost stories if we get to that, but first, we rock the Super Smash Brothers, oh oh! And-"

Chris's hands dart out to cut him off, to cup both cheeks in his palms and stop him from running around madly. It's instinct now; an immediate reaction to the moment when hyper-Darren kicks into overdrive and runs the risk of doing himself injury.

Darren settles the second Chris's hands touch his face, instantly sedate, and his eyes close for a second as he stills. It takes a moment for him to grin, and when his eyes fluter open again they're honey-sweet and warm under long, stunning lashes. His hands slide up to return the gesture, the way he always does when he's ready, just to say: _calm, now._

Smiling at him softly, Chris revels in the warmth of Darren's callused fingers on his face for a moment, blinks at him and enjoys the sleepy grin that he always gets in return for the act. He finally drops his hands, seizing a deep breath as he lets his gaze wander over the giant blanket cavern in front of him.

"How did you do this?" he asks breathlessly.

"I never reveal my secrets," Darren says, a fond and teasing smile playing at his lips.

Chris swallows, his eyes still wide and darting all over the room, taking it in, before Darren pokes him sharply in the ribs. 

"Get changed! I'll be back in a second," he says, disappearing through the doorway in a flash of grey and black.

Wetting his lips, Chris looks to the door, and back to the fort. He changes quickly, stripping down with practiced speed and sliding into the soft flannel with a disbelieving chuckle. Trust Darren to find cartoon printed pyjamas for grown men. _Or in Darren's case, medium boys._  

Suddenly he's grateful for the fact that he adjusted to wearing truly ridiculous things a long time ago.

He piles his clothes by the couch and ducks when he turns around, taking stunted steps inside before he drops down to his knees to crawl across the sea of pillows and cushions on the floor. His jaw drops a second time when he finally looks up at the dome of the cave, glittering above him, checkered with tiny white lights.

" _How did you do this_?" he whispers in awe.

Down the end of the fort there's a tiny wooden stand, and a small TV perched on top of it. When he sees the stack of cartridge games and the Nintendo 64 balanced on a square black cushion, a burst of laughter rushes out of him. He realises after a moment that his face hurts, but only because he's still grinning too hard.

Darren crawls inside behind him on three limbs, moving with cat-like agility to plonk himself on a cushion and drop the pizza box between them, holding out a can of soda.

With an overwhelmed sigh, Chris settles down, rocking back to fold his legs neatly and take the Diet Coke. "I don't - I don't know why you did this, but-"

"You need it," Darren says, his can sputtering open under strong fingers. "So do I. So for one night, forget your next best-seller book and your TV pilot and your blockbuster movie-"

Chris rolls his eyes, mouth dropping open to argue.

"-and just," Darren waves an arm at their surroundings. "Be a kid. For _one_ night. With me."

Eyeing him carefully, Chris opens his drink and sips at it. "One night," he agrees hesitantly.

" _Excellent._ " Darren grins, and tips his head towards the TV. "Melee?"

They play console games for so long Chris can feel the tenderness growing in the tips of his fingers, feel the redness in the flat of his palm where old calluses used to be from his rapid thumbstick swirling techniques, efficient and earned with years of playing. It's been a long time, and he's far out of practice, but still manages to kick Darren's ass a good eight times out of ten.

With the pizza box long since discarded to the side and gathering empty soda cans, they sit back and let the melodies of MarioKart rumble over the warm air, lost in conversation and old untold stories.

"No but Joey didn't," Darren waves both hands above him. "That's the point, he was supposed to take the gummy bears _out_ of the microwave."

Chris giggles, rolling on his side on the pillows, finding himself face to face with tea-brown eyes and a wash of dark curls across blue blankets. He stops himself still, sinking down into the cushions and watching Darren's face carefully while he talks.

The conversation drifts into childhood memories, passions and hobbies and arguments over different interests, dipping into cartoons and magic and movies -

"No, I saw Jurassic Park way too many times."

"Favorite dinosaur?" Darren prompts.

"Velociraptor." He shrugs at Darren's surprised brow-lift. "They're smart," he insists. "Smart impresses me."

"Uhuh," Darren smirks.

"Also scary," Chris adds with a nod. "But I guess you can't top the T-Rex for scary."

"You think T-Rex is scary? No, Allosaurus was scary."

Chris holds up a hand. "You're telling me you wouldn't run away from a T-Rex?"

"Of course I'd run away from a T-Rex, I'm not an idiot."

"Well, that's debatable."

"Unlike the ferocity of the Allosaurus, cause he was a _scary motherfucker."_

Their voices carry soft over the evening air and on into the night, slipping into talk of travel, daydreams, planets and space.

"You seriously know all the constellations?"

"I loved stars," Chris breathes, flat on his back now and staring up at the glittering fairy lights in the fabric firmament. "The idea of something so big so far away, just… appealed to me, I guess."

"But seriously, all the constellations?'

Chris sings, " _Hercules, Delphinus and Andromeda and Lyra,_

_Pegasus and Sagitta, Dorado and Lucerta_

_Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Cetus and Orion_

_I could name a dozen more if I were really tryin',"_

Darren's eyes are huge as he listens, unblinking and alight with wonder.

When silence eventually falls over them again, it's a peaceful buzz under the repeating background music leftover from the TV. It takes all of Chris's energy to find the remote, lost among the cushions, and hit mute.

"So does this measure up to the sleepovers of old?" Darren asks.

That stops Chris, and he almost doesn't have the heart to tell him. "I wouldn't know."

Darren narrows his eyes in question.

"I've never had a sleepover," Chris says lightly, trying to laugh it off. "By nature I think they require more than one person."

When Darren's mouth falls open in surprise, Chris feels the blush crawling up from his neck.

"Thank you," Chris says softly. "For this one. It's nice to - see what I missed."

Darren's throat flashes in the pale light when he swallows tentatively, eyes lingering on Chris's face and too bright for Chris to look directly at.

"Alright," he says suddenly, hauling himself up. "That's it."

Chris blinks at him, stunned. "What?" He feels a sudden surge of disappointment in his chest, and tries to ignore the cries of the little boy inside him, wondering why it had to end so fast.

"You've never had a sleepover," Darren says, settling on his knees. "That means you've never wrestled with anyone."

Chris stares at him, all voices in his head silenced in an instant. "What?"

"Up," Darren instructs, waving an arm. "Come on."

"You're insane!" Chris laughs in surprise, but moves to his knees anyway. "I'm _not_ going to wrestle you."

"Christopher Colfer you are a twenty one year old man who has never wrestled in his life, and that _offends_ me," Darren says with mock gravity, his tone insistent. "Now get over here and grab me."

Chris rocks back on his thighs, head tilted up and staring at the blanket ceiling, trying to find a good excuse not to do what he's about to do.

" _Fine_ ," he grumbles, shifting and moving forward. He realises in an instant he hasn't got a clue where to start. "Wh-what do I do?"

"Hand here," Darren grabs his wrist with a grin, clapping Chris's open hand to the back of his neck. "Other hand here," he guides Chris's second hand to his bicep, and mirrors the position on Chris's body.

"This is crazy," Chris insists. "We are _adults_."

"No, this is a tried and true form of friendly combat and you are only saying that because you don't think you can take me."

Chris fixes him with an amused glare. "Really?"

"Uh-huh," Darren teases. "You couldn't pin me if you tried."

"I used to be a chubby little kid," Chris blurts out. "I never wrestled with anyone, I don't even know how."

"I was chubby too, actually," Darren says, his tone turning casual. "For awhile, before puberty. But chubby helps with wrestling, once you knock 'em down you just sit on 'em."

Chris chokes on his laugh, head bowing and heartbeat racing as Darren's thumb brushes over his neck.

"Come on," he says. "It's easy, you just gotta grapple, like this, till one person gets the other on their back. Then you pin their shoulders for a count of three, and you win."

"Okay," Chris says, his voice high through nervous giggles. "Oh god never tell anybody about this."

"Promise."

"Alright. Ready."

"And… GO."

Chris's hands lock down on instinct at the sharp pull to the side - Darren's grip on his bicep is strong and dragging him over until he shifts his balance, spinning and pulling Darren bodily over his knee. The yelp that goes up is followed by a round of breathless laughter from both of them, and Chris flattens himself quickly over Darren's chest, counting out loud while Darren struggles and grunts under his weight.

"THREE!" Chris cries out, jolting and jerking with Darren's frantic attempts to knock him off before he rolls off onto his back.

Panting and dizzy, Chris can see Darren shaking in his peripheral vision, and he lets his head roll to the side to watch his silent laughter.

Chris is laughing too, he can hear it, but his head is spinning with the rush of blood and adrenaline that makes the noise sound like it's coming from the other side of glass. 

" _Ohhh_ , that was-" he gasps, "-that was fun, I'll give you that."

"That was _awesome_ ," Darren says on an enthused groan. "You're a natural."

Shaking his head, Chris lifts a hand to cover his face, holding down lightheaded giggles. "Yes, when it comes to pinning boys down, I'm practically a savant."

He doesn't feel Darren roll across the cushions at first, but a dip in the pillows along Chris's side finally gives him away and Chris's hand drops in surprise.

Darren's lips are parted, his dark eyes trailing over Chris's face, so close that Chris can feel the heat radiating from him. 

He doesn't speak, just shifts his body in soft, muffled drags over cushions in the quiet as he slides a hand across Chris's stomach slowly, catching the hem of his shirt. He doesn't look away.

"Does this-" Chris's voice cuts off with a shaky breath, eyes drifting closed as Darren's hands move over warm skin. "- is this standard sleepover protocol? Wrestling then groping?"

Darren chuckles, and Chris can feel the gust of his breath down his neck as Darren's head dips to rest beside him.

Chris is trying not to laugh, ignoring the mad flutter in his stomach and the way his breaths aren't coming as easily as they should be. "Just how many boys and girls have you wooed under," he flicks a hand in the air, "cover of _blanket_?"

He draws a sharp, loud breath in surprise as Darren's lips ghost over the pale column of his neck, moving up and along his jaw. 

"Just the one," Darren whispers, so close it tickles Chris's ear. "Is it working?"

Chris laughs breathily, trying to find some sort of rhythm with his lungs and failing miserably as Darren's hands trail lower, sliding over his hipbones with gentle strokes.

"I- _oh_." Chris moans so softly it's barely a sound at all when Darren's fingers curl under the band of his pants, brushing over sensitive skin with his knuckles.

The heat pooling low in his belly is making Chris dizzy, mixed in with the dense air inside the fort and the waves of warmth pouring off of both of them. They move together, imperceptibly at first, in soft strokes of hands sliding under pyjamas, the gentle press of lips in whispering kisses, fingers dragging circles into muscle.

When Chris's hips kick up out of his control the first time, Darren lifts himself up, slides over Chris's body to rest between his open legs, pressed against the warmth of him. He drags Chris's t-shirt up to his armpits, trailing his mouth over everything underneath, flicking at a nipple with his tongue and sealing his mouth over it smoothly when Chris moans.

Chris's hands fall either side of his head, eyes drifting open and closed without rhythm, catching flashes of white lights and colour as the sweet rush of sensation floods every inch of him - the weight and the warmth of a man on his body, the cool wash of air over marks left by Darren's mouth. He whimpers softly, blinking slowly again and trying to ground himself for all that he feels like he's weightless and sinking at the same time.

Darren has that effect on him, each time they do this. The first time they promised it was just the one night, that it wouldn't get in the way. The second time it was too fast, too desperate and messy and _perfect_ to be anything but syzygy.

Each time after that was like an oasis, cool and calming and laid out in each other's skin. Reprieve.

He bucks again under the press of Darren's body to his groin, the friction exquisite and sending shooting stars streaking behind his eyelids. Darren's teeth graze over that one sweet spot just below his ribcage, and Chris chokes on his air.

Darren's fingers play patterns of piano over Chris's ribs, melodies he's found in the bones of him. Chris can feel Darren's tongue and teeth tasting skin with a grin as he plays Chris's body like an instrument, searching out his sounds and sliding fingers into the warm curves of him. Chris complies every time, gasping and moaning, shaking and trembling and coming so close to the edge under strokes of Darren's hands, only to slip back again.

He sinks into the pillows, feels them curl up around his body, sweat-damp and still rising and falling too quickly. 

The song of the two of them plays on, and Chris's mind is caught between desperate flashes of _more_ and _please_ , and the lingering memory of tomorrow and whatever comes after it. He can't find a word for what they are. They don't have a name for it, they don't like to name things (except that Darren loves to name things, some things, at least, like dragonflies and imaginary friends and parts of Chris's body), but even unnamed, they still know what it is.

When Darren looks up at him, Chris catches it, and his head tips forward to watch, propping up onto his elbows. He barely registers that he's holding his breath when Darren pulls down the band of his pyjamas, then he's gasping and trying to fight the pounding in his ears and his chest. A firm hand coils around the base of his cock, and Darren's mouth sinks down, but his eyes, those two warm, impossibly dark eyes are still locked with Chris's gaze and the heat of that stare washes through his veins like liquid fire.

Chris's mouth is open and trembling, eyes threatening to slam shut at the ecstasy of _hot, wet, tight_ all around him, but he knows he can't. He can't look away from this. Darren's mouth his around him, sucking and teasing and taking him deep and it's all Chris can do not to scream as his hips buck out of his control. Darren seizes him bodily before he falls, fingers cupping the muscle of his ass, pressing him hard against his face as he swallows and moans with Chris in his mouth.

Chris has no idea how long he's been writhing on the floor by the time he finally thrashes and cries out. White lights bleed together above as he comes hard, his body stuttering, held tight by the man coiled around him.

"Oh god," Chris whimpers softly, head lolling sideways against a cool pillow.

Darren licks his lips, and Chris doesn't have to look to know he's grinning sleepily down at him. Strong fingers pull up his pants, but Chris hardly moves, lets Darren taken care of him in familiar, gentle caresses.

He feels Darren shift, feels the press in the pillows either side as he drops carefully on top of him. Darren nuzzles against the warmth of his chest, kissing his breastbone in two tiny bursts before he rests his cheek there.

They lay still in the quiet, a mass of spent limbs coiled in cushions and blankets, softly rising and falling to the same beat of breath. He hears Darren's tiny hum of contentment before the awareness of electricity registers in his ears, the knowledge that somewhere the TV is still on, but it fades just as fast as it came.

When Chris falls asleep his fingers are curled in Darren's hair, legs wrapped around his hips, head thrown to the side with his other arm draped limply beside it. 

Darren drifts off soon after, riding on the persistent bass of his melody, thump-thumping under his ear, content in the fact that even if the song is left incomplete, it's still his.

 


	3. Darren

He never wonders too much about what he's missing on weeks away from set, on another tour or show lined up between his bursts of filming. He doesn't let himself dwell on the quiet ache that rides along under the excitement of the bigger, brighter things that keep coming for him.

When he gets back to his hotel room, Darren slips out of his clothes, his practiced ritual of a scalding shower and then slipping under unfamiliar sheets is now more a simple and necessary routine than an unwanted reminder of his homesick heart.

He settles in bed on his back, pulls his flip-cam from the nightstand - the same place he left it - and rolls onto his side as he flicks back over videos absently, tucking in his earbuds with a free hand. The rain comes first, the flickering grey images of Chris's balcony through the view-screen, soft sounds and voices saying words he knows by heart.

When he skips ahead to Chris's trailer, to the rigid line of his shoulders and the sarcastic drawl that comes along with it, Darren smiles.

Thumbing over it again, he presses forward one more time, and snuggles down against his pillow as the video plays.

The image of Chris's face in peaceful sleep floods the viewer, framed by the little black box of the screen's limit, dipping down into the soft curves and sharp angles of his features. He's face down in the fort, his hair is ruffled and bed-messed, falling across a pillow with one absent strand left resting on his forehead as huge blue eyes drift open blearily to look at the camera.

Darren hears his own voice through the earphones. 

"Good morning."

Chris murmurs and groans, face twisting to bury in the pillow.

Darren can hear his smile, even on the noise he makes.

"Mrrphrrn," is the muffled reply.

Darren's own voice comes through again, disembodied. "Aww."

"Turn that off," Chris scolds him, tipping on the pillow to peek sleepily out one side.

He remembers grinning at that face, remembers the little thrill in his heart when he caught the blue of one eye looking back at him, tired but amused.

"Important moments," his own voice reiterates, tinny and strange on the recording. "This is one of those."

"How so?" Chris asks the camera, mouth set in a pout.

"Well, your first sleepover for one," his voice notes seriously. "And the first time we had sex in a blanket fort. Not the last, either."

Chris swats playfully at the camera, groaning. "Turn it off, come on."

"Hey, hey," a hand comes past the screen to slide over Chris's wrist, batting back gently before their fingers slip together and twine, falling between them, just out of the frame. "Come on, talk to me."

"If anybody ever sees this," Chris tells him seriously, eyes closed against the pillow. "I will hunt you down."

"This is just for me."

"Uhuh." Chris's head lifts up, cut off by the limit of the camera as he yawns broadly and squeaks, then drops back down into view. "Perve."

Darren grins at that, just like he did when he was there.

"What do you wanna know?" Chris mumbles, eyes drifting open to half mast.

He can hear his own huff of breath into the speaker. "What… out of everything, ever, do you want most right now?"

Chris chuckles, chin resting on the lump of his pillow as his shoulders shift. "Coffee."

"Besides that." He hears his own laugh again.

It takes a moment or two for Chris to think on it, and Darren leans in closer to the screen, watching carefully. This is always his favourite part, the point when Chris sighs and lets his head rest completely, eyes open and clear and staring playfully back at the camera, back at _him_. 

The rare moments when Chris is so open and free, relaxed and unburdened by life and obligation, are so far between that Darren couldn't bring himself to count them for the fear he wouldn't need more than one hand.

Chris's eyelashes flutter, his smile bright and breathtaking in the little morning light that filters through their fort.

"I want to stay here," he breathes. "Where it doesn't matter that we're us."

Darren feels the raw burn of emotion in his throat before the words even make it to his ears. That one moment, caught and locked in time forever, when all they wanted was everything.

"Me too," he says in time with his own voice on the recording.

Chris's hand lifts up from between them, raising above the camera and just out of sight, the long pale length of his forearm and elbow framing the side of his face as his eyes drift over. Darren remembers the feeling of those fingertips in his hair, down his cheekbone, ghosting lovingly over his face.

"You should stop recording now," Chris whispers, eyes bright with mischief.

The camera tremors for a moment, shifting hands.

"One more thing," he hears his own voice say, slightly cracked and raw. "What would you say to future Darren, who is most definitely the only person currently watching this?"

Chris raises his brow, drawing his lower lip into his mouth and biting down softly for a moment before he looks back to the camera and tilts his head towards it. "Stop watching old videos and come back to bed."

The camera shakes again, dropping and catching the underside of his own jaw just before the video cuts off to black.

Darren rolls against his pillow, staring at the ceiling and pressing the flip-cam to lightly to his chest. He reigns in his breathing, short and shallow, his muscles too tight and too warm all at once.

With a heavy sigh, he shakes his head and laughs to himself, rolling back onto his side.

He reminds himself absently to be excited for the show tomorrow - another performance, a whole new day - while he flips open the camera and hits play one more time.

(FIN)


End file.
